


Red at Night

by Svart_Jade



Category: Original Work
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, battlefield romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svart_Jade/pseuds/Svart_Jade
Summary: Their love was soaked in blood. But it was theirs all the same.





	Red at Night

Red was sixteen when they had met. Bloodied in the dust of the training fields, lip burning crimson and sweat-soaked hair sticking to his skin as he swayed on his feet but refused to go down. And Night had _ laughed _ at him, five years older with eyes that burned and had promised to make him fall eventually. 

Red was nineteen when Night had clasped his hand in his as the Lady had bound their wrists together and promised to share home, hearth and heart. To follow and to lead, to trust and cherish, to be his dream and his devotion until the ancestors beckoned them both to silver shores.   
  
Red was twenty when what was left of his Night’s legion had hobbled through broken gates, the lame leaning on each other, dragging blood stained flags in their wake. When his demands for answers were met with distant gazes and mumbles of _ ambushed, retreat, _ ** _losses_ ** _ . _

Red was twenty three when the war ended. When treaties had been written, prisoners released and a flag pressed into his hand with meaningless words of sorrow. That his Night would be written on the walls of heroes, that his sacrifice for their city wouldn’t be forgotten. He didn’t even have a body to bury, who were they to talk about _ sacrifices?! _

Red was twenty four when he took the Black. When he cut the flaming curls his Night had loved so much and wove burnished beads through the remains. His heart waited on silver shores and he would be glad to meet him but first there was work that must be done. Blood to wash away the sorrow.   
  
Red was twenty five when he met the terror that had carved through Brothers and Sisters like a scythe through wheat. The Sacker of Cities and Breaker of Spirits. But he didn’t have a spirit to break, not even for a Death clothed in the colours of Night. So he bared his teeth in these ruins of dust and refused to go down.  
  
Red was twenty six when Death laughed at him with eyes that _ burned _ and promised to make him fall again. 


End file.
